Waves that moan—cold, gray, and curling,
On a shore where gray rocks break them;
Skies where gray and blue are blended
As our life blends joy and sorrow.
Angel wings, and smoke of battles,
Lines of beauty, curved perfection!
Half-shut eyes see many marvels;
Gazed at through one's half-closed lashes
Wreaths of smoke take shapes uncanny—